Runaway
by prohibidofumar
Summary: They say every person has a story, some have it written on their skin. One day, a letter makes that story to come to light. (R&R!) ;]
1. Enemy of the people

[Escribir texto]

 _ **Runaway**_

 _ **Chapter 1: 'enemy of the people'**_

 **Author's note: Hey guys! After having for some time this story in my head I finally decided to write it! Hope you like it and enjoy!**

 **Pd: non native author, so in advance, sorry for any grammar mistake.**

 **Disclaimer: don't won the show, characters, etc.**

With his hands holding fiercely both sides of the sink, Sam looked at his reflection in the mirror. Frowning he scanned his skin; his eyes darkening with every passing minute at the sight in front of him. He thought he should have gotten used to it by now, to the tinted parts of his body that prohibited him to completely forget, but they were painful reminders -engravings of fire, as he used to call them- of their meaning and owner, impossible to get rid of them. With a resigned sigh, Sam finally allowed his muscles to relax and get ready for SRU. As he splashed cold water on his face, the thought of his team made his lips twitch, although he hadn't been working with them for long he really liked them and over time he felt safe and part of that family, as he liked to think about them. He quickly and methodically –ways that can only be acquired by habit- applied the tattoo concealer, constantly peering the watch on the wall. When he was over, he hid the concealer in his bag and headed to the SRU.

When he got to the SRU he heard the usual banter of his team as they got ready for workout. "Hey guys" he said with a smile "Hey Sam, how was your…" Ed started to ask, but he burst out laughing when he looked to his left "Spike, what the _hell_ are you doing?!" Spike looked back at him as if he had been caught stealing from the cookie jar. "I… uuh…" he babbled, but was interrupted by Sarge "Spike you _don't_ want to prank Jules" "Yeah, last time Ed and I pranked her I ended up with my left leg shaved" Wordy said with an angry-scared look on his face "Shelly wouldn't stop laughing and Ally told to her whole class. SO embarrassing" he groaned, melodramatically covering his face. Everyone started laughing uncontrollably at the memory as they headed to the gym "Damn Wordy I had forgot about that" Ed said between laughs. With a lopsided smile, Sam shook his head and went over the punching bag, just as Jules walked in "What's so funny?" she asked intrigued. They looked at each other and Ed said "We just remembered the time when we made the _horrible_ mistake of pranking you" She opened her eyes and giggled "Oh Wordy yeah so sorry 'bout your leg" At that, Wordy squinted at her as if saying "don't believe you" and started exercising.

After fifteen minutes at the gym they heard the voice of Winnie through the speakers announcing a hot call. When they got the scene they had been informed about what was happening. Apparently a man got tired of one of the local gangsters and was currently holding him at gunpoint in the street demanding his crew to leave the area. Ed had assigned Sam as sierra one and Jules as Sierra two. Unfortunately, the subject became impossible for Greg to handle and when he pointed the gun at him, he called Scorpio. For everyone, that was one of the cases they hated, a good man pushed over the limit that just wanted to keep his family and neighborhood safe. With a sigh, Sam walked over to the car waiting to take him to SIU. As he passed the trucks, he received pats and reassuring nods from his team, telling him with their bodies that it was a clean shot.

Sam always hated this part of SIU, getting rid of his clothes. This time was no different from the others: he stripped, carefully examining the hidden ink and when he found none, he sighed in relief and dressed quickly. It had been, indeed, a clean shot, and after less than an hour he was finished.

When he got back to the SRU, he was received by a very concerned team. "How was SIU, Samo?" Ed asked, as he patted his arm. Sam just shrugged and replied "Good I guess" Receiving more smiles he went for a shower hoping to get rid of the recent events. When he finished showering he applied the cream and got out of the shower to get changed. Five minutes later he was in the conference room with team one reviewing what was rest of the day, when the young dispatcher called him. "Hey Sam! You got a letter, they said it was urgent" She said waving her hand in the air, showing a dark red envelope. Puzzled at the rare envelope -as well as the rest of the team- he jogged to her desk "Thanks Winnie" he grabbed the thin envelope and went to a the lockers to get more privacy.

He sat on the bench infront of his locker and got a good look at it. It was eerie familiar, but he couldn't place his finger on it. With his heart pounding a little bit faster he opened it, revealing a black card. Recognition filled him and made his face turned white.

With trembling hands he slowly pulled out the card.

Written in white, it stated: _враг_ _народа_.

 _Enemy of the people_.

 **Hope you liked it! Please review and tell me what you guys think and if you're intrigued, you liked it (or didn't) 3**

 **What do you think the card is? Tan taan**


	2. ИЗМЕННИК

_**Chapter 2:**_ _ **ИЗМЕННИК**_ _ **[izmennik]**_

 _ **Author's note: hi guys! Thanks for all who R &R! Beware of cursing in this chapter.**_

 _ **I updated quickly cause the first chapter was more like a prologue.**_

 _ **You´ll understand the title at the end (don't cheat with google translator)**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: own nothing (sadly)**_

 _Previously_

 _He sat on the bench in front of his locker and got a good look at it. It was eerie familiar, but he couldn't place his finger on it. With his heart pounding a little bit faster he opened it, revealing a black card. Recognition filled him and made his face turn white._

 _With trembling hands he slowly pulled out the card._

 _Written in white, it stated:_ _враг_ _народа_ _._

 _Enemy of the people._

Sam, in his state of shock, didn't realize how long had passed since he first held the card. In his dazed mind, nothing apart from the white words was being registered, letters that assaulted him like knives in his stomach. Finally, when a drop of sweat fell on his left eye he left is state of shock and horrified, he jumped from the bench throwing away the card as if it was hot metal burning his hands.

Breathing heavily and feeling his legs collapsing under his weight; he found himself leaning his back against the wall with his trembling hands on both knees to prevent a most certain fall. When some sense entered in Sam's head, he realized that he wasn't going to get anywhere if he allowed himself to fall into fear, so he forced himself to calm down with sniper breathings. At first his breaths were shaky, but after a couple of minutes he was more in control, although his heart rate was still faster than normal, but that was understandable given the situation, he thought to himself.

Feeling less weak, he stood up completely and started pacing as he rubbed his face and hair with his hands; his eyes never leaving the card on the floor, which blackness made the card even more noticeable in contrast with the light colored floor.

"What do I do? What the _fuck_ do I do!?" he mumbled in whispers as he picked up the card of the floor and threw it into his locker with contained anger. He slammed the small metallic door with a "shit!" and went over to the sink to cool his face and thoughts. For the second time in one day, he looked at his reflection in the mirror, but this time with dread and with a haunted look on his wet face.

Sam knew the risks years back and know he had to live with it. He knew what he had to do know, not that he wanted though, but he had to. So, with resigned determination he wiped his face with the hand towel as he opened his sport bag and pulled out from a hidden compartment a knife, which he strapped above his shoe, and a small semi-automatic pistol to hide it on his back under the shirt.

Just then Ed came in. Sensing the distress on the other man, he amiably put a hand on Sam's shoulder and asked "You okay buddy? It's been fifteen minutes since you left to read the letter"

For Sam, the hand resting on his shoulder made this situation a lot more real than a few minutes ago, as it made him realize that that hand -or any other of his team- was never again going to touch his shoulder, to pat his arm. The realization of that made his throat and eyes burn with sadness.

Shifting his feet uncomfortably he did something that he would have never done to his team and friends. He lied. With his voice cracking a bit he said looking at his hands, unable to lie him in the eye "I... um" He cleared his throat and continued "I have a family emergency. I need to take the day" yeah… the day, more like a few years, Sam thought ruefully.

The hand on his shoulder hardened his grip, irradiating concern. "God Sam, of course you can take the day, take as much time as you need. Can I ask what happened?" Ed studied Sam's face, usually never one to be read, was now filled with thick emotions. And _that_ worried Ed.

Rubbing his eyes Sam answered, again, with a lie "It's my Mom, she's sick in the hospital. My dad kinda hates cell phones" he laughed mirthless "That's why the letter"

Patting his arm, trying to give some comfort, Ed said "I'm so sorry Sam. Anything you need we're just one call away. Okay? I mean it, _anything._ "

Trying his best not to crack at that, Sam nodded sharply muttered a thank you and started packing his things. Seconds later, a very anxious TL left the room to tell the Greg what was happening and leave Sam some space to get ready. The minute Ed crossed the door, Sam started searching for the small device he always carried with him. When he found none he cursed, remembering that the day before he had left it in the car. Parked outside his department.

"Well shit" he sighed, because he knew that he couldn't go back there; too dangerous. The only option left was his emergency bag on the locker at Union station. Knowing that there was no time to waste, he headed quickly to the entrance trying to go unnoticed by his team, but of course, they were useless efforts. As soon as they saw him, he was boarded with hugs, hands patting his back and words of encouragement. Filled with emotions, Sam, unable to speak, was only capable of giving them a small smile a nod of appreciation for the concern and left, thinking with sorrow that he was never going to see them again. But he refused to look back.

When he set one foot outside he put his hoodie and sunglasses on, ducked his head and walked through the crowd. After thirty minutes walking with a death grip holding a knife inside his left pocket, Sam finally arrived at the station. He jogged, still with the sunglasses and the hoodie and avoiding the cameras, until he reached his locker. Sighing in relief he put on the code and immediately searched for the small device. When his hand felt it, he allowed himself to smile for the small victories. Deciding that it was best to do it in the bathroom, where he could change his clothes and appearance, he quickly entered the public restroom. But when he turned around to close the door, he heard the familiar click behind his head and froze. Thinking fast he slipped the device into his sleeve, dropped the bag pack and raised his slightly trembling hands when he felt another man checking for hidden weapons.

Once he was done with the inspection, the man behind him, in a deep voice filled with hate, said "hello, _traitor_ " the other man slapped his face and spit on his shoes "yeah, fu**ing изменник"

FBI Headquarters, New York. Three hours before

Special agent Aaron Jones was having quite a quiet day and thank God for that. Currently he was enjoying his morning coffee –black with two of sugar- when a call came. Groaning at his bad luck he left the mug on the table and answered "Jones". When he heard the man on the other side of the line he rose from his chair in disbelief and with wide eyes he yelled at the phone.

"What do you mean with 'it's gone'?!" As he thought in alarm, how the _hell_ does a body vanishes from the ME?!

 ****** **изменник** **[izmennik] is traitor for the ones that got a little confused (sorry about that)**

 **Hope you liked this chapter! Sorry for the cliffy hehe please tell me what you think and review!**

 ***ME: medical examiner**

 ***NY and Toronto are in the same time zone**


	3. Curiosity killed the cat

_**Chapter 3: Curiosity killed the cat**_

 _ **hi guys! as promised, here goes chapter 3.**_

 _ **enjoy! hope you like it**_

 _Previously_

 _Once he was done with the inspection, the man behind him, in a deep voice filled with hate, said "hello, traitor" the other man slapped his face and spit on his shoes "yeah, fu**ing_ _изменник_ _"_

 _(…)_

" _What do you mean 'it's gone'?!" As he thought in alarm, how the hell does a body vanishes from the ME?!_

* * *

FBI Headquarters, New York. Two hours before.

This was _not_ good. At all. After spending the last hour trying to understand how and why _the hell_ the body of Ian Pearson disappeared last night, Jones found himself with no other option but to call two people he had hoped never to have to call, because lifting the phone and pressing the numbers meant that lives were in danger, terrible danger.

"Wilcox" an artificial raspy voice, created after so many years of smoking uncontrollably, answered.

With a tone of urgency the agent replied "Bruce! This is Aaron. Look we have a situation; I need you to come to my office with Gonzales _now_."

"Okay, okay. We're already at the elevator" With that, the man hung up, leaving a very anxious agent pacing in his office.

"Stop fixing that tie, you give me the nerves" A robust mid-fifties man said, as he entered the spacious office a few minutes after the call with a large and a few years younger man by his side, which was well known around the office for having such marked Latin factions and accent, as well as the natural charm that emanated from him.

Paying no attention to it, Agent Jones indicated the men to take a seat. Seeing the grave look on the senior agent, both remaining men sat with hasty movements.

The agent stopped pacing and, fixing his tie one more time –a nervous habit that he had acquired through the years-, started speaking as he closed the door behind him.

"Gentleman, last night the body of Ian Pearson Disappeared from the EM's office" Seeing that the men in front of him opened their mouths to speak he lifted his palms, and continued "I was just informed this morning, because the doctor fell ill last night. A coincidence? Probably not"

Agent Ramirez, with anxiousness asked "Did he do the autopsy?"

Shifting his gaze from one agent to another, Jones replied "No, the doctor had no rush to do it, because Pearson had an apparent heart attack, nothing very serious, and the ME started feeling sick. So he was going to do it this morning"

After a moment of silence agent Wilcox spoke earnestly and in a low voice "If he's not dead and escaped from prison…"

"I know" Jones interrupted him with exasperation –more towards the situation than to his friend-. Exhaling profoundly, he continued "Put an APB on Pearson and let Wilson know about the situation. He knows what he has to do" and grabbing his jacket with a quick move, he stated "We're going to Toronto".

As the three men headed to the airport, Jones thought of Sam and how their paths intersected so many years ago.

* * *

Feeling a knot at the pit of is stomach, Sam, still with his hands raised, lied for the third time in the day in a breathless voice "I don't know what you're talking about"

At that, the man behind him pushed him with violence to the wall, his head bouncing painfully against it, making Sam wince at the pain. The assailant buried his arm on his neck, slightly choking him, and pressed with more force the cold barrel of the gun against his cheek.

With a Russian accent, the man barked angrily at his face "You think I'm stupid?" However, the other man shifted in doubt and in a low voice he whispered to the other in Russian "But Anton, I don't see any tattoos, what if we picked the wrong guy?"

Sam had to hold back a smile when he heard that as he mentally thanked the genius that invented the tattoo concealer. He, as well as the two other men present, knew that many times people weren't recognized by their faces but by their bodies, designs that served as identification among them.

"Are you questioning a Vor,Viktor?" Anton asked in the same language, with a reverberating voice.

Under the menacing gaze of his boss, Viktor shrunk and apologized.

Well, there goes my chance, Sam thought bitterly. But at least he still had under his right sleeve the gps beacon device, which he didn't press. Great.

His thoughts were interrupted when Anton said close to his ear "You are going to come with us and don't even think about making the slightest movement or I'll make one call and one of your cop friends is _dead._ " When he finished speaking, Sam's heart was beating in a speed he never imagined it was possible. Utter terror filled him –for his friends more than for his own life- which made his fingertips tingle in adrenaline, because he knew that they had two things that made the threat real: means and motivation.

Once Sam carefully shook his head in confirmation (because the recent hit made him sway under the movement) Anton ordered him to take off his hoodie.

As Sam took it off he maneuvered to slide the device, once more, into an inside pocket on the side of his pants. Out of pure lock, the men didn't notice.

Then, Viktor proceeded to cuff Sam's hands in front of him –painfully tight- and put Sam's hoodie on top of it, hiding them.

Anton hid his gun under a loose jacket on his arm and pressed it against Sam's ribs, then forced him to open the door and walk through the station to his most certain death. This time though, the former soldier took every chance he could to look at the cameras, in an attempt to leave some kind of trace.

Hopefully, someone would see him among the crowded space, he thought.

The group was close to the entrance of the building when a young mother, oblivious to the world around her as she concentrated all her attention on the running toddler at her side, crashed against Viktor, making her purse and bags to fall to the ground with a gasp, from both the woman and the Russian.

Anton, foreseeing Sam's idea of getting help, whispered coldly to his hostage in the ear "Try anything and I kill the kid"

Gulping, Sam nodded sharply and put on his best 'nothing's-wrong' face. However, out of anxiousness a few drops of sweat slid over his forehead, threatening to shatter his façade.

But in the end, the whole thing ended in less than a minute, with Viktor smiling broadly at the mother as he apologized for his carelessness and picked up the things. The woman, still trying to control her daughter, absentmindedly gave him a small smile and muttered a thank you, not even noticing the other two men.

And just like that, she disappeared in the crowd.

Sam wasn't sure if he felt relived or frustrated for that, but he didn't have time to think about it as he was roughly pushed forward and outside the building.

A couple of minutes later, the group turned right to a small alley, where a grey car was parked. Sam, realizing what was going to happen, gritted his teeth in frustration.

At Anton's all clear signal, Viktor cuffed Sam's hands again, but this time on his back, then blindfolded him and popped the truck, shoving him inside.

Sam was planning on pressing the button when he felt a sudden sharp needle attacking his neck. He groaned at the unpleasant feeling of the liquid making its way through his body.

Leaving him drugged, gagged and cuffed, Viktor closed the truck.

And in his increasingly foggy state he thought in desperation "The button… I need t…o pr…ess t…he but…" But in a matter of seconds, Sam fell in a daze, too out of it to even remember the source of his trepidation.

* * *

Back at the Barn, team one was currently resting. After the initian shock about their teammate's mother, they decided that worrying wouldn't be of use if Sam needed them, so team 1 chose to try to relax instead.

So Ed went with Greg to the gun range, to talk about Sam and their families, while Lou with Wordy and Jules to the gym to release some stress.

But Spike was eating one of is nails in anxiousness, the cause? Unlike the others, he chose to hit the showers, but as he was getting his things out of his locker, the corner of his eye caught the red tip of Sam's letter poking under the metallic door.

And curiosity was killing him.

He thought to himself that he couldn't, that it wasn't the right thing to do. But… he could always return it after seeing it, right? Not that he wanted to read it, but the odd envelope was so striking that he just wanted to see it closely.

Peeping left and right, he quickly grabbed the envelope with his right hand and sat in the bench with his back to the door.

Frowning, Spike looked both sides of the envelope, looking for an address or… something. But he found nothing.

"Well that's weird" he thought.

Feeling a bit less bad for snooping, he looked once more to the door and then opened it.

His frown, as well as his heart rate increased significantly when he saw the black card with words he couldn't understand. Realization hit him: Sam had lied to them.

"Well, I hope so, because if not Ed's gonna kill me" Spike thought worried.

"Boss!" the Italian said as he entered the gun range

Both men, intrigued, turned their heads expectantly at the door.

Nervously, Spike started speaking faster than normal "I know you're gonna kill me and I know that I shouldn't have done it but you can yell at me later, because you know-"

"Spike get to the point. What did you do?" Ed interrupted as he crossed his arms.

"I was getting my stuff for the shower when I saw the letter of Sam and well I… I looked at it"

"What!" Both men screamed in disbelief

Raising his hands, Spike said quickly "I know, I know! kill me later, but the thing is when I didn't find an address or anything like that I opened it" and looking at them troubled, he continued "There wasn't a letter"

Ed, still angru, but now with a hint of concern asked "What do you mean?"

For an answer, Spike just gave them the black card.

* * *

 **Sooo how was iit!? did you like it?**

 **Now you know what the device was! to whom or where do you guys thinks the signal goes?**

 **What do you think about Spike digging into Sam's stuff? Haha**

 **give me your thoughts and REVIEW!**

 **kisses**


	4. but satisfaction brought it back

_**Chapter 4: …but satisfaction brought it back**_

 _ **Hey guys! Sorry for the small delay, I was on a trip and found myself unable to write but here it goes chapter four!**_

 _ **(the title is the rejoinder of curiosity killed the cat)**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

 _Previously_

" _There wasn't a letter"_

 _Ed, still irradiating anger, but now with a hint of concern asked "What do you mean?"_

 _For an answer, Spike just gave them the black card._

 _Ten minutes after the letter_

* * *

The three agents were walking to the gate of their plane when Agent Ramirez, holding his phone to his ear said with urgency "Hey, Wilson isn't answering his phone. I've been trying for the last forty minutes and nothing"

"Did you try his partner?" Asked Jones in concern "Um… Detective Mitchell"

Ramirez smiled apologetically and muttered a "no" as he tried again, this time with the other detective.

Back in Toronto, Wilson's partner was chewing her gum in concentration. She was leaning against the wall of her most recent crime scene, trying to figure out what had happened in the living room of a family that had been brutally assaulted by three men. She sighed in tiredness and rubbed her eyes at the thought of having no leads. It was going to be a long night.

The vibration of her phone startled the detective from her thoughts and yawning, she answered "Mitchell".

At the other side of the line, a sigh of relief was heard " _Detective! This is special agent Ramirez with the FBI. We have a bit of a situation here and we need to speak to Detective Wilson urgently."_

Raising her eyebrows in surprise she replied "Well Agent, that's gonna be difficult. Wilson is in a meeting on the outskirts of Toronto"

With a tone of frustration, the man said _"Detective,_ _you don't understand the severity of the situation. It's a matter of life and death, literally"_ And with authority he finished " _Get him out of that meeting and tell him that the case motv-0098—You writing this Detective?"_

Grabbing an officer's notepad she mumbled a "yes" and started writing

" _So, that the case motv-0098 has most probably been compromised and that he has to handle both charges"_

Still writing she said "Right, so I give him your number?"

" _Yes, but we're about to enter the plane for Toronto. For the next two hours we won't be reachable, so please, take him out of that meeting"_ And with a short goodbye, the Agent ended the call.

Sighing again, the detective ripped the piece of paper and returned the notepad to the young officer, who had been awkwardly waiting at her side.

Jumping in her car, Detective Angie Mitchell headed off to the station, as she called the secretary outside Wilson's meeting. Using her police authority she made the poor lady to interrupt her boss and ten other people discussing around a large wooden table.

 _(20 minutes after the letter)_

" _Angie what the hell! You know how important this meeting is"_ Detective Wilson barked angrily at the phone

Refraining herself from lashing out her frustration at his partner, she answered "I know. It's just that an FBI agent, someone called um… Ramirez told me that he needed to tell you that case… wait a sec I got it here somewhere" Finally she found the piece of paper and continued "that the case –and I quote- motv-0098 has most probably been compromised and that you have to handle both charges and that he was going to come here to Toronto in about an hour and a half"

As soon as the words _"has most probably been compromised",_ Wilson felt his throat going dry and his body freeze for a moment.

Without even saying goodbye, the man roughly hung up the phone an run faster than he had run in a long time as he screamed orders on his cell "John! I need you to send two units to Natalie Braddock's house and bring her to the office; I want two agents with her _at all times._ And a protection detail for Sam Braddock at SRU! But tell them to wait for me there"

As soon as he hung up, the detective started the engine and drove anxiously to SRU as he swiftly wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his jacket. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in a nervous pattern, Wilson dialed "Braddock, S" on his phone and waited.

When he got no answer, the detective muttered a "shit!" punching the dashboard. He tried several times; but again, he got voicemail on the other line.

With hope, he thought that maybe Braddock was on a hot call, unable to answer him and clinging to that idea, Wilson put on the police lights and sped up even more, still desperately calling Sam.

* * *

SRU

Back at the gun range, two men had his eyes fixed on the white letters that stood out from the dark background of the card, in an almost grotesque way.

After a few seconds of the initial shock, Ed and Greg looked at each other with confusion in their eyes and then back to Spike, who was shifting his feet in anxiousness, waiting for a reply from the men in front of him.

"Sam _lied_ to us?" Ed asked in surprise, still holding the card.

Sighing, Spike said with doubt "Um that's what I thought, yes"

Greg, thinking that Sam might be in danger, made his way out of the room almost screaming, his voice filled with thick worry but steady with authority "We need to find out what's going on. Ed call the team, tell them to go to conference room 1"

With a knot in the pits of their stomachs, Ed and Spike ran out of the room to find the rest of the team wondering what really happened to Sam and why he had lied to them.

In a matter of seconds Team one was gathered around the table of the conference room, with the soundproof door closed. As soon as everyone was paying attention to Greg, he started speaking as he ran a hand through his head "This is not an official call, but Spike, Ed and I have reasons to believe that Sam is in some kind of trouble"

At the confused looks on the remaining members of team one Ed, standing up, explained "Spike found the letter of Sam a few minutes ago and what he saw wasn't a letter" dropping unceremoniously the card at the center of the table, he continued "We don't know what it is or why he lied to us, but we have to find out, he may be in trouble and for some reason he didn't tell us"

Jules, frowning in determination to find her friend, and looking back and forth from Greg to the card she asked "What do you want us to do Sarge?"

Crossing his arms, Greg started giving indications "Spike I want you to see what you can find in your computer about that words and the card, see if they have some specific meaning" Shifting his gaze to Jules and Lew he continued "I want you to look with Spike at the CCTV cameras; see of you can track Sam's steps after he received the letter"

Signaling to Ed and Wordy to come closer, he started speaking as they walked away from the table. "Ed see if you can reach him on his cell and Wordy, call to his place" the men swiftly took their cells out and started dialing, only to find out that neither in his house nor in his cell he was answering.

With despair they looked at Greg, but they were interrupted by the gasp of Spike as he suddenly stopped the furious drumming of his fingers through the computer keys, staring incredulously at the screen.

Everyone, startled by the sudden sound, turned their heads expectantly at Spike and approached the computer.

Slowly lifting his head, Spike started speaking with wide eyes at Greg and Ed, at first stuttering but after with more confidence "Um… so" he crossed his arms, not sure how to continue "so… the sentence is in Russian and it means ' _enemy of the people'_ and I looked for this particular phrase and card and this was the result"

Unsure how to explain it, Spike gave the computer to Greg, pages filled with news and police reports.

Everyone grew concerned as Greg's face turned from curiosity to concern and finally to one of alarm, but still, they waited. After a few excruciating minutes, Greg sighed deeply and rubbing his eyes he looked at his team and started speaking with a slight trembling voice.

"Well…" he looked at the only other man that had already read the reports searching for some kind of understanding, but when he found nothing but confusion and concern, he continued "both the news and the police reports referred to the Omega mafia of New York"

There was a collective gasp among the members of team one and they all started to speak, running over each other with screams and questions. Greg only raised a hand and when they quieted, he said "I'm as confused as you are guys. Just let me finish so we can investigate this. So, it says here that the card is used…"

The words froze in the air when Winnie's voice suddenly emerged from the intercom in the middle of the table, startling everyone.

" _Boss, there are some people here looking for Sam"_

Looking worriedly at each other, they were all on their feet and jogging towards the dispatcher's desk in less than a second.

Standing in front of the desk, there were five men.

Four of them, dressed in Kevlar vests and cargo pants, were standing in a military type of stance with their arms at their sides; one hand resting heavily on the gun holster and the other on their waists. They had a serious look on their faces, their eyes switching from the fifth man to Greg.

When they were close enough, the fifth man approached Greg and shook his hand. "Sergeant Parked I assume?" When Greg nodded in confirmation he continued "I'm detective David Wilson and these are my men"

Seeing the anxious look on the Sergeant he explained "I'm looking for Constable Samuel Braddock"

Ed, stepping forward asked with one eyebrow raised "Why?"

Sighing in frustration the detective replied "All I can tell you is that I am here to protect him" he pointed the men behind him and said "this is Braddock's protection detail"

Greg could swear that his heart was caught in his throat impeding him to speak as dread filled his body. "Sam left earlier this morning, we found this" he signalized Jules to give the detective the card.

Hesitantly she stretched her hand and gave the card to Wilson.

With trembling hands he held it as he muttered "O my God" looking intently at Greg he asked "We need to find him"

Exasperated, Greg said "We know. But we need to know what is going on or else I won't know how to do that" at the hesitant look on the detective he continued, but now with a more soft tone "Look, detective, as a negotiator I'm telling you that I can't help or solve anything if I don't have information to work on. Why don't we talk in the conference room?"

Defeated, Wilson replied "Fine"

Once they were inside, with the doors closed, the detective stood up with his arms crossed in front of him "I really can't tell you much for reasons I can't tell you either. Only my colleagues can"

Angrily, Ed asked "Then why aren't they here?!"

"Because they are flying from New York" the detective sighed and spoke tiredly "look, for now I can only tell you that some dangerous people might be after him and that we need to find him before they do"

If they only knew that they were already too late for that.

At that, Ed asked fearfully "What does the card means?"

Drumming his fingers on the table, Wilson proceeded to put the card on an evidence bag, giving it to his second in command. That simple gesture gave everyone the chills.

The thought of Sam becoming a hot call.

After he saw is second putting away the card, he spoke with earnest "the card belongs to the Omega mafia of New York…"

"We already know that, what we want to know is what it _means"_ Ed interrupted him.

Wilson, giving him a knowing look, said "I was getting to that constable Lane. the card, that reads _'enemy of the people'_ is given as a warning to traitors, it first begun as a forced tattoo on the face usually on the forehead, but then it evolved and they sent it as a warning"

Team one's faces were all white as a sheet, and with his heart pounding strongly and unsteady on his chest, Greg –the one in charge, and hence the one that made the questions- asked in a whisper "What warning would that be?"

Looking at him with haunted eyes, the detective sat heavily on a chair and said "one of death"

The silence that filled the room was so deafening that when Ed spoke, the team's heart rate flew off the roof, making some of them to jump of their chairs "Did Sam do undercover or special ops?"

The detective, taken by surprise managed to stutter "I'm sorry I can't tell you, but in about an hour when my colleagues arrive at Toronto we'll see if they can tell you more" at the disappointed looks he said apologetically "I'm really sorry"

Sighing, Greg addressed at his team "It's okay guys, let's just focus on finding our guy"

Pulling their feeling aside, the remaining members of the team looked intently at their Sergeant waiting for orders.

Greg gazed at the detective for his approval and as soon as he saw him nodding he started speaking fast "Spike, track Sam's cell phone and I want everyone else to help Spike to find Sam by CCTV's or everything you can find"

* * *

The cold was the first thing that Sam's drugged mind registered. He felt himself shivering, why? Had he fallen off his bed?

He didn't know.

After a few minutes (or maybe seconds or hours?) he became aware of another thing, his eyes. He felt them terribly swollen and heavy.

With extreme effort, Sam fought against the dizziness and the sleep that was threatening to overcome him, and slowly opened his eyes. But when he opened them, he found himself frowning in confusion. Because of the drugs, he couldn't understand why he couldn't see.

' _I'm blind?'_

He had to wait a few minutes to realize that he had a blindfold bag over his head, which kept him in complete and utter darkness.

Then, the drugs were replaced by the increasing heart rate on Sam's chest, bordering hyperventilation. Inhaling and exhaling deeply by his nostrils, the former soldier forced himself to calm down.

Finally, everything came back and he remembered the card, the men, the kidnapping, the drugs…

In despair, Sam thought _'so that's why my eyes feel so heavy'_

As his mind cleared, he became more aware of what was happening around him. He could explain the cold now: he had been thrown to the ground and stripped from his waist up, his chest and face connecting to the freezing cement. Also, he noticed the uncomfortable gag on his mouth, preventing him to speak or ask for help.

And when he tried to take the bag off his head with his hands, he abruptly felt the sharp pain of the cuffs digging cruelly into the flesh of his wrists; warm blood dripping lazily to the ground.

The last thing Sam noticed was the silence, rich and sweet silence. It meant that his kidnappers weren't there for the moment. He waited about five minutes and when he heard nothing he allowed himself to move his hands. Painfully he reached the inside pocket of his pant –thank God they hadn't taken off his pants- and touched the small device. Sighing in relief, he dropped his head to the ground and activated the gps.

Hopefully, they would save him before it was too late.

 **How did you find the chapter? I really hope you enjoyed it!**

 **I know it's going slow but no worries, action is coming soon!**

 **IMPORTANT: the phrase of the tattoo is as accurate as i could find in the research i made and EVERY SIMILITUD TO ANYTHING IS MEARLY COINCIDENTAL (except for the tattoos naturally)**

 **Please Review! I love reading them and responding to them personally**


	5. Revelations

_**Chapter 5: Revelations**_

 _ **Hi agaiiin! I know you want to read but please read the note at the end of the chapter (after you read everything of course)**_

 _ **Sorry for the delay! I've been studying really hard**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: see first chapter**_

 _Previously_

 _Greg gazed at the detective for his approval and as soon as he saw him nodding he started speaking fast "Spike, track Sam's cell phone and I want everyone else to help Spike to find Sam by CCTV's or everything you can find"_

 _Painfully he reached the inside pocket of his pant –thank God they hadn't taken off his pants- and touched the small device. Sighing in relief, he dropped his head to the ground and activated the gps._

 _Hopefully, they would save him before it was too late._

* * *

Suddenly, the small black phone smashed furiously on the cold cement, its destroyed parts rising for a moment in the air, only to sink moments later back onto the hard floor, indifferent to the scene playing around them.

Sam's glazed eyes stared at a small dark metal form, near the destroyed cell phone, spinning endlessly on itself, finding the movement hypnotizing and ironically soothing. Clinging to the almost absurd comfort, the former soldier let a small sad and melancholic smile to form on his lips as the gun behind him rose, aimed and fired.

 _Five hours earlier_

Clasping his hands in anxiousness, Greg looked at his team and said in a strong voice "Come on guys! Clock is ticking. What do we have?"

Ten minutes had passed since Detective Wilson spoke to a very worried team one and now you could see not one, but two computers atop the glass table, each one with members of the team crouching over the screens, devouring any little information they could find about their missing friend and teammate.

"I've got something!" Spike yelled in a nervous tone as he kept his fingers running swiftly on the keyboard.

He hadn't even finished the sentence and everyone was gathered around the Italian, wide eyes of all colors piercing holes in his back.

Not lifting his gaze from the computer screen, Spike pointed his finger to the TV. At that, everyone spread across the table –but never seated, as they found the chair too still compared to the storm of anguish inside each of them- and looked at the bigger screen.

As soon as the images appeared, Spike started speaking rapidly but always professional "I found Sam on some CCTV's and followed him through the streets" he stood up and showed with his right hand a frozen image in the lower right corner of the screen, which showed a few, almost imperceptibles, blonde strands of hair poking underneath a dark hoodie, and sunglasses hiding the look on the man's face as the camera caught him looking suspiciously over his shoulder.

"He arrived at Union station" he went back to the computer and pressed some keys and sighed "But I can't see inside the station, for that we have to ask for permission".

Greg chewed the inside of his cheek and then said to no one in particular, interrupting the deep thoughts of everyone in the room "Okay, so we call them" he looked at Ed and said "get that footage". In a quick motion, the team leader went to a corner of the room and dialed, his fingers drumming nervously on the side of his pants.

Turning his attention to the remaining members of the team, Greg asked already in negotiator mode "why the station?"

Jules, who had now approached the image, said pensively "catch a train? Escape?"

"After all, Union Station _is_ the primary railway in Toronto, he can go anywhere from there" Wordy interrupted

Everyone else nodded in agreement at the conjecture, as they were unable to find any proof that stated the contrary.

A short goodbye and the sound of heavy footsteps of their team leader made the men and woman to turn their heads expectantly for an answer, for _anything_ besides a blurry image and a lot of unanswered questions.

Ed's face had somewhat released some of the accumulated tension as he spoke "they gave us their full cooperation" The remaining people inside the room allowed themselves to crack a smile at the thought of having a possible strong lead, so Spike moved quickly to the computer and opened the several cameras placed in different parts of the station.

"Go back to the time you saw Sam entering the building" Greg commanded, his eyes never leaving the TV screen.

A few seconds later, after Spike had successfully traced Sam's steps on the video, the eight people inside the soundproof room (as three of Wilson's men were outside because only the second in command -Sergeant Don McCormick- had enough clearance to be there) had their eyes transfixed on the video that was about to play in front of them.

With unsure fingers for what was about to come, Spike hit the play key, stood up and crossed his arms.

With pounding hearts and some occasionally nervous pacing and shifting of weight from one leg to another, they watched as Sam approached a locker and after checking discretely left and right, he opened it, revealing a dark bag pack. They frown in confusion as they saw him entering the bathroom after he had looked for something inside the bag, but never pulling it out.

A flash of recognition filled the detective's eyes when Sam reached inside the bag, but he said nothing. He wasn't sure of it and because it was part of the case, it only had to be revealed if it proved as an immediate necessity. Biting his lower lip in anxiousness he said a silent prayer, hoping to be right.

A minute passed, then two, three and Sam wasn't leaving the public restroom. Actually, no one seemed to be able to get in.

They thought he may have locked the door, but something just _wasn't_ right, so Greg said "Spike could you rewind it to when Sam got to the locker?" At the inquisitive look of his team he muttered "gut feeling"

And he had been right.

With dreadful eyes they saw what Sam didn't: two men crept behind Sam, one very large with short hair and the other shorter -but still tall- and stouter than the other. Then, the tallest man signaled to the other to follow him when he saw Sam moving to the bathroom. Unfortunately, they went in first and their teammate didn't even noticed them as he was too focused looking constantly for danger behind him and at his sides, but regrettably, not in front of him.

After a few minutes of agonizing and anxious wait, they saw. And it took their breath away.

Sam was roughly being pushed forward by the two men and this time, the former soldier looked with expressive eyes directly at the camera, as if he was looking at _them_ , begging for help.

They gave a collective gasp when all of the sudden the group of men crashed against a woman and her child and saw how the tall man whispered something in Sam's ear, causing him to stiffen and smile at the woman. ' _They probably threatened someone, to prevent Sam asking for help. Damn'_ Ed thought in despair _._

And then, they lost them in the crowd outside, despite the desperate search of Spike.

"I'm… I'm sorry guys I… can't find him, I CAN´T FIND HIM!" Spike yelled frantically as he punched the table hard. Trying to comfort him, Greg gently put a hand on the young man's shoulder and squeezed it as he softly said "It's not your fault Spike"

Worn out, the Italian sat as if he had received a physical punch to the stomach and put his face in his hands.

They looked at each other in fear and despair. Jules whispered, too mentally shocked to being able to speak louder than that "We lost him".

Slowly and quietly team one, except from Greg, sat heavily around the table. The looks on their faces was like when a young child gets lost in the supermarket and doesn't know _what_ to do. That's how they felt now; lost. That was their _only_ lead and it had been a dead end. Just like every other lead.

As Greg watched his team seating, lost of all hope, he had to say something; after all, he was their leader. "Guys… I know how this looks like but we don't back down, team one _never_ backs down. We haven't lost Sam, okay?" he saw some heads lifting and with renewed energy he continued "Spike do you think you can do some facial recognition with what we have?"

Spike's face lit up and nodded excitedly at the idea "Yes, yes I can do that" He quickly grabbed his computer and started pressing things and making, well, his magic.

As he did that, Greg was about to speak again when he was interrupted by a "You're right"

They turned their heads, puzzled at the astonished tone of the detective as he said it. Detective Wilson stood, grinning widely at them and repeated now with more confidence "You're right Sergeant!"

"What do you mean?" Ed asked, irritated "get to the point"

He lifted his left hand and revealed a pager, which had a red light glowing brightly that made a high pitched note every time it appeared. He looked at it and then he glued his eyes to Greg "We gave Sam a gps tracker device, and when he reached the inside of his bag pack I thought he had pressed it, and when I heard nothing I thought that maybe I was wrong or that he was waiting for something, But now…"

"AND YOU'RE TELLING THIS NOW?!" Ed was _so_ angry at the detective, no. He was _livid_. He was walking towards Wilson when a hand stopped him. He looked fiercely at Wordy's eyes "Ed, he didn't tell because he probably couldn't and he didn't want to raise our expectations, what if it turned out that Sam couldn't press the gps?"

Greg intervened "Ed, Wordy is right" And smiling broadly he said "now we know where he is" he pressed the button next to the metallic doors to open them and commanded as he ran to the locker room "hot call team, let's roll!"

Ed, shooting a last glance to the detective, ran along the hallway with his team to suit up.

* * *

The cold was starting to dig on Sam. He was slowly getting desperate at the uncomfortable position he was currently in. His muscles had started to stiffen at the tension put on them and it was hard to stay in the same position for that long, but he didn't dare to move, not an inch.

 _Who knew who was watching, right?_ Sam thought in discomfort

He had tried hard to measure time since he first awoke, but he didn't know how long had passed since he pressed the button _-maybe ten minutes ago? Or an hour?-_ Mostly because he had been so exhausted and drugged that soon after that small trick with his hands he fell in a dazed state filled with strange and vivid visions, some of them were memories, some just his drugged induced imagination, but for Sam it was nearly impossible to difference them. They came as pictures in front of his unfocused eyes, passing rapidly like a sudden gust of wind, making him dizzy and unable to grab them, a few stayed longer though and there was this one that lasted longer than any other.

* * *

 _He was in a long corridor, dim lights glowing weakly above his head, making strange shadows of his body as he walked. At the end of the long hallway there was a metal door, old bullets embedded on it, but not completely piercing the thick metal, as if it had been made for that._

 _All of the sudden he was in front of the door. How strange… how did he cut the distance so fast? Guess it didn't matter._

 _An impulse made him open the door, and with slightly trembling hands he pushed the door ajar. He stood there, not quite understanding what was happening._

 _He was watching himself, literally._

 _More curious than anything, he frowned and crossed his arms in his chest, tilting his head to the side as he wondered how he could split in two. But that question quickly faded as he saw his other self – or should he say himself? - looking worriedly at some papers, constantly peering at the door._

 _While he approached the other side of the room, he half listened to the news coming from an old radio on top of the wooden desk as he was too interest in watching what his other self was doing. You could hear a hoarse voice saying: "FBI declares war to the Omega Mafia of New York, after special agent Jay Ortega is found dead"…. "Leading the investigation is special agent Aaron Jones who declares to have been close to the deceased" (…) "Yesterday afternoon; Anatoly Orlov was brought in for questioning as he has been found a person of interest in the murder of the agent, among other –suspected- unrelated crimes" (…) "Anatoly Orlov, mafia boss?"_

 _When he arrived at the large wooden desk, he took his time to study his other self. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt and under the right sleeve, by the upper arm, glimpses of dark ink could be seen. Most of the work was hidden under the shirt, but it showed some kind of tower and a shadow of small birds flying around it._

 _When he focused of the face he noticed that he looked a few years younger, but a constant frown on his face made him look older. He followed his other self gaze –this is getting complicated, even for a dream… although was it a dream or a memory?- and fell on the papers he was hastily going over._

 _Abruptly, his other self stopped, and glancing nervously at the door when he heard a noise coming from the hallway, he folded two of the papers and hid them inside his pants. He only managed to see pieces of them. But the first one read: "Pipe bombs: their design and uses". The second though, was different from the other one, as it was much smaller and it was a slightly yellow torn sheet, which stated in a clean and readable handwriting: "March 10, 1998. Bust at E 170_ _th_ _St. The Bronx. 21.30" Under the information it simply signed "Pearson"_

 _By the time his other self successfully hid the papers, he was smiling as he thought 'evidence'_

 _When he heard a hard knock on the door, he shouted in a commanding tone, trying his best to sound exasperated "wait!" and with clumsy and shaky movements, he returned the spread papers to the folder and quickly put it the way it was before. Checking one more time, he cleared his throat, opened a book and said "come in!"_

 _A fat, unnerving looking man came in, holding a small grey bag on his left hand. He nodded sharply and said "Morning boss. Here I have what you asked for tonight's meeting"_

 _Making his best impression of boredom and contempt, he never lifted his head from the book and just pointed at his desk "just leave it there". Once he heard the plastic noise of the bag making contact with the wood, he dismissed the man with his hand._

 _Just after the door closed he allowed himself to look up and release the air he had been keeping for so long._

' _That was close' the other self thought._

 _He opened the bag and found what he had asked for: a disposable cell, a recording machine and a few other things like a small gun and a pocket knife._

 _But it was the first two things that mattered to him. Next week, he was finally going to put the plan in motion._

A hard and icy wall of water made Sam abruptly leave his state of slumber with a gasp of shock. He contorted his body in vain attempts to get away from the source, but found himself unable to move his muscles. Without his sight he could merely understand what was happening and after a few seconds after a second wave hit him; he felt the warm, almost burning hands that held him in a kneeling position.

Although he was unable to stop from shivering, Sam made his best effort to stop the tremors and biting the gag to hold his jaw still he lifted his head with dignity and with a hint of defiance towards his captors.

Not that he could see them, though.

Suddenly, a big calloused hand grabbed his neck with force, as his blindfold bag was ungracefully pulled from his head with the other. Because of the sudden change of light, Sam found himself unable to see and desperate to clear his vision, he blinked furiously to keep his eyes from watering.

After a few seconds he half opened his eyes -still too sensible to the light- and saw two deep dark, almost black eyes looking directly at him.

A violent shiver run through Sam's back. But this time he wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the icy unnerving look.

When he recognized those eyes, Sam's blue ones widened and felt his heart hammering hard on his chest.

He thought terrified _'but… but it's impossible! He's in a fucking prison!"_

When the man in front of him saw his recognition, he broke eye contact and dropped his hand, finally releasing the deathly and chocking grip on Sam's throat. A coughing fit broke from Sam's mouth and after he controlled himself he slowly looked up at the man.

Under the sky mask, Sam saw his captor smiling broadly, his eyes giving away some of the craziness of it. He started pacing calmly in front of him and said in a menacing tone "You know, _Sam_ , how long I've been waiting for this?" When he heard nothing from his hostage, he turned his head with such violence that made Sam wince and yelled, inches from his face "DO YOU?! YOU FUCKED EVERYTHING UP!" a vicious right hook connected to Sam's left cheek "Because of you I. LOST. EVERYTHING"

The blow had been so painfully hard, that Sam's face was hanging limply on his chest, bright red drops of blood dripping to the cement floor, from the cut made by the knuckles. In an effort to not fall into unconsciousness, the former soldier shook his head and carefully lifted his nearly closed eyes and tried to listen what the man was saying.

The last thing Sam heard just before another fist sank into his bruised jaw was a distant sound of sirens –a sound heard by everyone in the room- and Ian Pearson saying in a mocking tone "Finally! Let's begin with the show, shall we, _Sam_?

* * *

 **Please tell me what you think! And please please please REVIEW! It takes only a few seconds!**

 **Okay so….**

 **Congrats to** _ **chocolateverries**_ **who guessed where the signal went!**

 **Now you (semi) know one of Sam's tattoos!**

 **What do you think is gonna happen?**

 **Tell me what you thought about the dream (or the memory?)**

 **Kisses!**

 **Pd: sorry if you have more questions than answers, buuuuuuut next chapter some answers will be given! Tan taan**


	6. Крот

_**Chapter 6: крот**_

 _ **Hey guys! I am SO sorry I haven't posted, university has been a BITCH. But now I'm on vacation so –hopefully- I'll be able to write more.**_

 _ **Hope you don't give up on my story, I promise it gets good! ;)**_

 _ **Enjoy! And please read this: SSSA means "Senior Supervisory Special Agent"; SSA "Supervisory Special Agent"**_

 _ **Ps: at the end of the chapter you'll know the meaning of the title, don't cheat**_

 _Previously_

 _He lifted his left hand and revealed a pager, which had a red light glowing brightly that made a high pitched note every time it appeared. He looked at it and then he glued his eyes to Greg "We gave Sam a gps tracker device, and when he reached the inside of his bag pack I thought he had pressed it, and when I heard nothing I thought that maybe I was wrong or that he was waiting for something, But now…"_

" _AND YOU'RE TELLING THIS NOW?!" Ed was so angry at the detective, no. He was livid. He was walking towards Wilson when a hand stopped him. He looked fiercely at Wordy's eyes "Ed, he didn't tell because he probably couldn't and he didn't want to raise our expectations, what if it turned out that Sam couldn't press the gps?"_

 _Greg intervened "Ed, Wordy is right" And smiling broadly he said "now we know where he is" he pressed the button next to the metallic doors to open them and commanded as he ran to the locker room "hot call team, let's roll!"_

 _Ed, shooting a last glance to the detective, ran along the hallway with his team to suit up._

 _The last thing Sam heard just before another fist sank into his bruised jaw was a distant sound of sirens –a sound heard by everyone in the room- and Ian Pearson saying in a mocking tone "Finally! Let's begin with the show, shall we,_ Sam _?_

* * *

Across an abandoned building, now dark and dusty with filth, gnawed by the pass of time, three omnipotent black suv's and a command truck, followed shortly behind by a few police cars and an ambulance, cut ferociously through the cold blizzard. Then, as they came to a halt, the black tires screeched loudly against the soft, dark cement.

Still with the authoritative blue and red police lights blazing, eleven men, dressed in police fatigues and with their hands protectively on top of their holstered guns, jumped out of the cars in anxious anticipation. The car doors closed in rapid succession and the group of men gathered outside the command truck as their eyes roamed through their surroundings, cautiously assessing any potential dangers.

Once the men were settled in a circle, Sergeant Greg Parker folded his arms and studied the building in front of him, deep in thought. With an almost imperceptible sigh of frustration he returned his gaze to his team and said in a commanding, rapid tone that left no room for discussions: "Ed you're on tactical, Spike the truck"

"Alright" Ed whispered, narrowing his eyes at the plans in his phone. Without looking up, he continued now in a strong voice, filled with determination to get their friend back "Alright I want Wordy with the three men of McCormick" He looked back at the building and at the adjacent structures "Jules I'm gonna be sierra one and you sierra two, find a spot" and looking at the building, he sighed "and quickly" Then he shook his head at Wordy and his partners to plan their tactical approach.

At the same time, Greg looked intently at the Detective, and signaling with his hand he said earnestly "Wilson, a word".

Behind the command truck, Greg looked gravely at the detective as he shut his mic off with force and said in a whisper, barely containing his anger "Is there something I should know, detective?" At the look of hesitation, he continued, now emphasizing with his hands "David. Look, one of my team is in there, being held against his will. For all we know, he could already be dead. Just give me _something,_ somethingto work on"

Unable to hold the penetrating pleading look, the detective sighed and looked away.

"Please. We're going to find out sooner or later anyway"

Wilson gave him a conflicted look and after a few seconds of biting his lower lip in thought, he finally said "look Sergeant, the only thing I _can_ do is to call my colleagues, who should be arriving…" he glanced at his watch "should _have arrived_ –he corrected himself- twenty minutes ago. I'll call them right know and tell them where we are so they can come, alright?"

At the disappointed look on the sergeant's face, he said apologetically with the phone in his ear "I really am sorry Parker"

* * *

"Alright gentleman, everyone's got their bags?" and absentminded Aaron Jones asked as he checked for service in his phone. Finding nothing, he gave a small curse and proceeded to walk to the entrance of the airport.

In concern, Supervisory Special Agent Wilcox and Gonzales chased after the senior's hurried pace.

Once outside, Wilcox, out of breath, asked "So, any word on the detective or the charges?"

Jones sighed and stopped a cab showing his imposing badge "I was told that Natalie was on custody, safe" he stopped, slightly hesitating "but no word on the brother"

"So… we're heading to SRU?" asked Gonzales, now inside the yellow car

But before SSSA Jones could answered, his cell returned to life in the form of annoying beeping.

"Jones" He answered

" _Jones! Wilson here"_ A voice cracked through the speaker

"Detective, It's been a while. Any word on Sam?" he replied in haste

" _Straight to the point as usual_ " a slightly amused Wilson answered, but quickly sobered as he continued _"Regrettably, Agent, you may have noticed that Sam's gps has been activated?"_

"Yes we did, that's why my concern" he frowned

" _Well, I went to SRU this morning immediately after you called my partner and his team informed me that Sam had fled in haste after he 'read a letter that his mother was in the hospital'"_

The detective heard a small snort on the other side on the phone and gave a chuckle that had –definitely- no amusement behind it _"yeah, like that would ever happen, right? Anyway, so then they told me that they had their doubts because of a letter that one of them, Constable Scarlatti of I'm not mistaken, saw"_

Suddenly sitting straight, the senior agent asked the dreaded question "What did it say detective?"

When the man heard the answer, he closed his eyes, ran a hand through his tired face and ended the call with a quick "send me the address"

He sighed, as if he had aged ten years

"They have him"

* * *

Inside the surrounded building, the blonde constable woke up at the painful, searing loud clanging noises around him. Still dazed, with blood covering half of his face and a throbbing swollen right eye, the young man, now noticing the lack of cloth on his mouth, mumbled in confusion, his words slurred "Wh't's h'penning?"

He tried to raise his head to have a better look around him, but gasping at the sudden onslaught of pain cutting through the left side of his brain like millions of sharp needless, he carefully dropped his head, exhausted and pained, and asked again trying to surpass or at least ignore the loud thuds coming from his head, now more aware:

"What are you doing Pearson?"

A calloused hand grabbed with fury Sam's jaw and raised his head. Looking at him with scornful eyes, he mocked "Well" he showed his captive his shackled hands with a pointed finger "I'm going to kill you in front of your team, but naturally with a little fun in the process. Then…" He smiled behind the mask "I'm going to have a little fun with your sister, _Natalie_ isn't it?"

At the mention of his little sister, disgust traveled through his spine and filled with adrenaline, he brutally bit the hand of his captor, making it bleed.

Possessed by blindness rage, Sam fought ferociously against his restrains as he bellowed "you son of a bitch! You touch my sister and you're DEAD! You hear me?! DEAD!"

Ian Pearson cursed loudly at the pain in his hand and barked at the two accomplices "gag him, _now_ "

Infuriated at the taunts and degrading position he had been put in, the young constable inhaled deeply, unsuccessfully avoiding the sticky smell of the dirty cloth under his nostrils, trying to calm himself with the idea that if he had pressed the button his sister was safe; under the protection of the police. He closed his left eye –as the other one was too tender yet to move it- and prayed for her, his responsibility, like he hadn't done in many years. A bittersweet memory, no doubt, he thought.

And to avoid getting dominated by thoughts of hopelessness, the young prisoner assessed the situation. He gingerly lifted his head towards his shackled hands and thought bitterly "Thick metal. Both hands on a higher position, each one embedded far from each other, one to the left and the other to the right" He frowned as he moved his hands "Shit, this thing isn't gonna budge an inch, but maybe if I-"

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when a jet of ruthless, freezing water assaulted his back. Surprised, he bit the gag with violence to stifle an angry whimper. Unforgiving, one of the goon's hands scraped with a cloth his wet chest, arms and back. After painful minutes of mild groans, twitching, rattling of metal and disdainful laughs, the hand stopped its assault, leaving behind not only a reddened and throbbing skin, but also dark figures of so long hidden drawings, now blatantly exposed to the eyes of the world.

Tightening his jaw and hardening his expression, he looked hatefully at his captor, who merely looked back at him in contempt. Getting dangerously close, Ian Pearson whispered to Sam's ear:

"Now they'll see what you really are, _Sam_ " he set his dark eyes on the hateful ones of the prisoner, and spat, disdainfully "Or should I say _Mijaíl_?"

Sam's eyes widen in terror as he thought about a name he had long forgotten, thought that carried him inevitably to 1998; ten long years back.

 _January 2_ _nd_ _, 1998. Brighton beach, New York_

 _It was two am in the morning and the big, wooden house was all but silent at that hour, except for the sporadic creaking of the mahogany floor and the dull sound of slow steps against the floor. But one those steps didn't belong to those dark hours._

 _A young blonde man, with his heart thumping hard against his chest, walked quietly to the only room of the compound that had a computer._

 _He had exactly 40 minutes until the guard came back._

" _I hope that laxative will give me some more time" He thought anxiously as he carefully closed the door behind him. Swiftly, he sat on the chair and started typing on the keyboard, successfully getting into the FBI homepage._

 _Once he found what he had been looking for, he took out of his shirt a piece of paper and started writing in haste the information down, constantly peering at his watch and listening intently at any sound:_

 _Ian Pearson, 31 years old. 8 years in the bureau. Title: Special agent. Single. Address: 3522 Forest Avenue_

 _Aaron Jones, 42 years old. 19 years with the feds. 4 years in the military, from 1974-1978. Branch: violent crimes. Title: Supervisory special agent. Married for 15 years, two kids: Elaine, age 10 and Jackson, age 12. Address: 2182 Hanover Street_

 _The young man, absentmindedly removing the thin layer of perspiration on his forehead with the back of this long white sleeve, checked his watch again with a frown. Twenty minutes. He set his light eyes on the screen and quickly closing the page, he looked for recent news about Jane and Marcus Greenberg; the unfortunate victims of another gang related crime. Once he found it, his face lit up in victory and scribbled energetically pieces of the news. It read:_

" _After witnessing an execution by the Omega Mafia in Brighton beach of the city of New York, the married for twenty years, Jane and Marcus Greenberg were supposed to be safe, under the protection of US Marshalls -hidden with new identities as part of the WITSEC program- that worked along the FBI in such a delicate case. Our sources informed us that later this afternoon the Russian mafia found the couple and, sadly, subsequently brutally killed them. The FBI is currently doing a thorough investigation as to why this unfortunate event ever occurred. Questions like the validity of the program and the safety it promises are being proclaimed with concern"_

 _Suddenly remembering the limited time he had, he peered quickly at his watch as he closed the pages and turned off the computer. Five minutes. He stood in haste and cautiously opened the door checking both sides of the hallway; nothing. Clutching the paper in his hand, he ran silently, fading in the shadows that adorned the long corridors._

 _Finally, in the loneliness of his room, the young man, with his back pressed hard against the cold wall, guided his body to the floor and with a hand on top of his heart, allowed himself to breathe. He smiled ecstatic at the thought of the evidence he had gotten; after months of investigating the mole in the FBI, he had finally found him._

 _He would get that son of a bitch of Ian Pearson and get some healthy benefit in the process._

 _Current time_

"Wordy, status" Greg said through the comms.

With a frown of concentration, he whispered "Me and Dennis are inside, setting the thermal camera"

Biting his lip, Ed said "Get me that image quickly. We already know where they are, but we need eyes" and mumbled to himself as an afterthought "I can't get a shot unless they open those damn curtains"

"Yeah give it a minute, would ya'?"

Around that time, three sets of eyes roamed through the scene in concern, professionally hidden behind hard features surrounding their faces.

An imposing SSSA Jones walked directly towards the commanding truck, followed shortly behind by his companions. Once inside, he called earnestly "Wilson"

The man, who had been looking intently at the computer alongside Greg and Spike, turned around with a sigh of relief. He swiftly, but firmly shook hands with the agent and introduced him.

"Greg, this is SSSA Aaron Jones"

Both men looked at each other and shortly shook hands; professionally, but amicably. Jones had started with the introduction of his colleagues, when a voice cracked through the speakers.

"Boss, we're in. I've got the thermal image up and running, it should appear on the screen"

At the statement, the five men quickly surrounded Spike and the computer. The Italian constable spoke "Boss I'm improving the image, but I can tell you that I see four men. One blocking the entrance, has a shotgun; other pacing around the room, also with a shotgun, the other one with a pistol standing next to…" He stopped mid sentence when he suddenly remembered that this wasn't just _any_ call; he cleared his throat and continued, this time in a lower voice "to the hostage"

"How's Sam doing Spike?" Ed asked anxiously through the comms

Spike looked at Greg, overwhelmed, and the latter, as if out of pity, took word "They have him kneeled down, with his hands shackled to the roof, but I can't tell you more than that Eddie"

A quiet "bastards" and then a quick "thanks" were heard as the sniper ended his transmission.

With a grave look on his face, Greg inhaled discreetly to calm himself, and looked at the agents "I need to know what's happening _right now_ , Agents, otherwise, you _will_ have a disaster on your hands" He pointed at the computer screen "I can't negotiate if I don't have facts, so help me"

The sergeant clasped his hands, sighed, tired, and begged "Please".

 _ **Крот**_ _ **: The mole**_

 _ **You finally know who this crazy guy of Pearson is! Tell me what do you think it's gonna happen! (meaning: please REVIEW!)**_

 _ **Next chapter YOU WILL KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO SAM :0**_

 _ **Tell me if you liked it or if you hated it… who knows right?**_

 _ **Till next time!**_


	7. Secrets revealed

**Chapter 7**

" **Secrets revealed"**

 **O. My. God. You guys. I finished the new chapter and it's a looong, illuminating chapter. You will understand almost everything. I really hope you like this chapter and that you won't hate me in the end, you'll understand why at the end of it.**

 **I'm so excited.**

 **Please enjoy and review at the end, because this is literally one of the most important chapters of the story.**

 **Here we go.**

* * *

 _Previously_

 _With a grave look on his face, Greg inhaled discreetly to calm himself, and looked at the agents "I need to know what's happening right now, Agents, otherwise, you will have a disaster on your hands" He pointed at the computer screen "I can't negotiate if I don't have facts, so help me"_

 _The sergeant clasped his hands, sighed, tired, and begged "Please"._

* * *

"Please"

Gonzales and Wilcox looked at the senior agent, who nodded earnestly and said "I'll tell you everything…" –he raised his palms when he saw Greg was about to speak- " _But_ , I need to know first the information you have"

Greg stretched his neck and scratched his forehead in frustration, and looking at the screen next to him where green, sinuous figures could be seen and then back to the agent, agreed "Alright, but then you'll tell us everything" -When he saw a reluctant nod of confirmation, he continued- "So far we have little to no information, but we managed to identify two of the three captors from the CCTV's of the station. We know that these two men came to Canada a week from now with tourist visas from New York"

He nudged his head to Spike, and the latter swiftly brought both of the suspects to the screen.

The agents, along with the detective, leaned forward with a frown and when the disturbed faces and crooked smiles of the mug shots looked back at them, Jones's eyes widened in shock and grabbed Wilcox's arm, nearly succeeding in hiding the small, but meaningful gesture.

Greg, noticing the interaction, asked, now getting angry "Ok agents, sorry but cut the crap. Who are these guys? You _clearly_ know them from somewhere _"_

Spike eyed Greg with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment, as he had never heard his boss saying such thing. He muttered under his breath with a small smile of what could only be described as pride, "Way to go boss".

Jones straightened his back and set his eyes on Greg. He pointed his finger to the screen and said, marking his words "These men were part of the Omega Mafia. Look" He sighed, massaging his temples "So you can understand who this man is, Anton Petrovich -he pressed his fingertip on the photo on the left and continued- and the implications of it, you _need_ to understand first how the Russian mafia is organized"

The senior agent nodded his head towards Gonzales, who brought him a board and marker. Immediately, the agent grabbed the black marker with his right hand and started writing and drawing as he explained with few, but concise words, shooting sporadic glances to his listeners:

"First of all, you have to know that Russian mafias are not as carefully structured like the Italian-American ones, to name one. So, naturally, all the positions I'm going to name and explain are understood names for determinate roles, rather than official titles, okay? -At the nods of agreement from the constables, he drew a pyramid and said- Think this as a pyramid. At the top you have the Pakhan–he encircled the tip of the pyramid, as he wrote next to it 'boss'- this guy is the ultimate boss of _everyone_ ; they call him in different ways: Pakhan, Vor, Boss, Papa, Avtoritet or Krestniy Otets, you get the idea"

SSSA Jones turned his body around completely and set his hard eyes on Greg's equally determined ones, as a clear warning of the seriousness of his next words.

"He controls the four criminal cells in the working unit –at the confused looks, he explained quickly- there are four units, it's really simple, just let me finish with the positions and then I'll explain that- As I was saying, he controls these units through an intermediary called the 'Brigadier' who are captains in charge of a small group of men, a crew, called 'Bratva' and gives jobs to the 'warriors', who are basically the brawns of the mafia. Then, you have two 'spies' that are in charge of watching over the action of the brigadiers; they collect money from them and the bribes from the government. Then, you have the lowest rank on the mafia: the 'six' or 'associate'; they work on temporary positions to give support to a Brigadier. They usually do this to make it into this world, so they can become warriors"

The agent smiled apologetically at Greg. "I'm sorry, I'm trying to explain this as summarized as I can"

Greg waved the apology away and said, "No worries, I know the feeling. Please continue"

Jones nodded to himself, gathering his thoughts. After a brief pause, he spoke, "Lastly, you have an honorary title, called 'Vor', which literally means 'Thief'. They show high intellect, charisma, great leadership skills and they follow a specific code; nowadays the Vors do not honor the code, like they did before, if it conflicts with his personal criminal warrants. That covered" –he shoot Greg and Spike a quick look and erased his previous explanation, leaving space to the new one- "the mafia has the next structure: the 'Elite group', 'Security group', 'Support group' and 'Working unit'. The Elite is the highest group led directly by the Pakhan; they control the support and security group and are involved in management, organization and ideology. Then, as you may already have guessed, the Security group is in charge of security and intelligence, and is led by one of the spies. The support group is led by the other spy and is in charge of supervising the criminal activities, their main job is to plan a specific crime and to choose who carries out the operation. Lastly the working unit is run by four Brigadiers who report to the Pakhan and each one in charge of a Bratva –as I said before- that run a specific criminal activity like prostitution, extortion, street gangs, burglaries, etc"

Just as he finished explaining, Wordy's concerned, yet professional voice came through the loudspeakers as a whisper, _"Boss! We're in the vents. In about ten minutes we'll be able to start setting up a snake camera. We'll make contact when it's ready"_

"Copy that, Wordy" Greg sighed in relief, glad that they hadn't been made by the HTs. Before he returned his attention to the agent, he addressed to Spike, "Hey Spike, how are we doing on contacting the HTs?"

Spike scratched the back of his neck and sighed soundly, "Sorry boss, no phones on the room and I'm not picking up any phone signals"

More to himself than anything, Greg muttered "Okay so once we have the camera set up we'll throw them a phone to start negotiation". Turning his attention back to the agent, he asked, now with a new light of comprehension in his eyes, "Alright so who are these two men?"

Every member of team one was listening intently through the common channel, each one with their hearts pumping hard in anticipation.

Aaron Jones sat in one of the chairs, mentally exhausted after the long explanation; he leaned forward wearing a small frown and, fixing his tie, he said in a deep voice, "Anton Petrovich used to be a Vor for the Omega Mob" –Jones eyed shortly at Wilcox and Gonzales, nervous at the information he was about to give. He looked back at Greg and folded his arms in a protective stance, which didn't go unnoticed by the trained eye of the Sergeant- "Ten years ago a potential case was brought to our attention by a concerned party…"

Agent Wilcox cryptically interrupted "That's one way to put it"

Jones glanced at his friend with disapproving eyes and continued, "As I was saying… this case caused the arrest of dozen of members of Omega and, sadly, four of our own"

Greg winced sympathetically "Sorry to hear that"

Jones sighed soundly and clasped his hands "Yeah me too. Anyways, we found evidence that linked Petrovich to a number of murders, extortion and corruption, but we never found him, well until now" –he said, nodding his head towards the screen- "We always thought that they had killed him"

Needless to say who 'they' were.

Wilcox took word and said in a low voice, with an underlying tone of hate "too bad they didn't" –at the pointed look shoot in his direction by the senior agent, he lifted his arms in defense- "Just sayin'. That man killed and tortured innocent people, including children; he's a pitiful excuse for a human being"

Greg saw the tension rising -sensing that the agents had had this discussion too many times before- and lifted his own arms in a calm expression "Okay, we got it. Now who's the other guy and why are they after Sam?"

Jones licked his lips and fixed his tie, again. The agent cleared his throat and said "The other guy was a simple warrior that also disappeared when we started making the arrests" –Jones paused for a moment and looked apologetically at the constables, the lack of space inside the truck suddenly overwhelming him- "Before we can answer that, you may want to know that we have a possible suspect to your third kidnapper"

" _What?!"_ the shocked, slightly angry voice of Ed rose loudly.

Greg, always the voice of reason, took a breath and asked calmly "Who?"

"Ian Pearson, a former FBI agent"

Greg and Spike looked at each other, confusion clear on their faces.

Joes stood up and started pacing in the reduced space. "He, along with an US Marshall and two FBI agents were arrested and convicted for corruption" –he briefly stopped his pacing, and resumed after a moment of thought- "Pearson and the other three had been giving confidential information about witnesses and ongoing federal investigations to the Omega mafia, until the day he was arrested, literally"

He stopped again and turned around to look at the screen.

"I came here because the day after Ian Pearson had supposedly died in prison by a heart attack, he disappeared from the ME's office. It immediately made us think what we always dreaded"

"What's that?" Greg encouraged

"That he would come back to get revenge on Sam"

"Why? Did he work undercover?" this time Spike asked, his voice itching with worry.

The raspy voice of Wilcox, although softer than before, echoed what Jones was about to say, "You may want to sit down for this"

* * *

Sam's eye had been throbbing painfully. At least the pain distracted him from his current situation, which was more ironic than anything, he thought, because you would think that the blow to his face was a reminder of his dire state, rather than a mechanism of oblivion.

His thoughts were again interrupted when the mocking eyes of Pearson clouded his limited vision.

"I'm going to take the gag off now" His hand stopped in mid air "You won't try to bite me again, would you?"

Sam smiled internally, absorbing the small victory he had had as he peered at the bandaged hand floating a few inches from his face. Externally, he shook his head earnestly in denial.

"Good. I would hate that, after all we are civilized men trying to have a civilized conversation, don't we Anton?" The former agent asked to his left, yet never taking his eyes off of Sam.

The alluded growled back petulantly "Indeed"

In a swift, yet tentative movement, Pearson took off the repulsive tasting gag and brought his hand back quickly.

Like a natural reflex, Sam licked his lips and moved the stiff muscles of his mouth, enjoying the short given freedom.

A million questions revolved in Sam's mind, and apparently it showed in his face when his captor asked him, disdain radiating from his stance, "Wanna say something, Sam?"

Hesitant, he finally chose, probably, the most feared question.

"Does he know?"

The corner of Pearson's mouth rose in a smirk and taunted his hostage "Oh… of all the questions you could have asked, you chose _that_ one" A small, sinister laugh, that didn't really have any humor behind it, left the mouth of the deviant former agent "As Freud would say, it all comes back to the father in the end, doesn't it?"

He got close to Sam's ear and grabbing his throat, he whispered menacingly, hot air hitting the neck of the constable "Of course he knows. Who do you think sent us in the first place?"

Color drained from Sam's face and in a chocking voice he blurted out "You're lying"

Pearson let go of his tight grip and instead, grabbed Sam's bruised jaw, making the former soldier to wince at the pain. "I wouldn't lie to you Sammy"

Enraged, Sam banged his forehead against Pearson's nose and yelled at the top of his lungs "don't call me that!"

Livid and in pain, with blood oozing down his now broken nose, he screamed in a bestial, guttural voice. A few seconds later, Pearson's voice lowered until there was nothing more than his hard breathing; his gaze fell onto his bloodied hand and the heavy silence was again interrupted when the man started laughing manically, his eyes glazed with a strange glow.

At the bizarre and sudden change of emotion, Sam eyed him suspiciously, slightly scared at the reaction. An icy shudder run through his spine when the thought of having a half-wit for a captor crossed his mind.

As quickly as Pearson had changed humors all sound stopped, leaving the scenery, yet again, to the silence along with the gurgling sound coming from the broken nose. When the HT realized that it was rather impossible to breathe through the smashed bone, he opened his mouth ajar and slid his dark eyes onto Sam's body.

He walked slowly towards the kneeled constable, the sole of his boot stepping hard onto the dirty ground, making a hollow noise with each step. Once in front of the prisoner, he kneeled until his eyes were at the same level as his hostage, and for thirty excruciating seconds, he looked at him. Nothing else, just his dark eyes –that seemed to get darker by the second- caught in his captor's suspicious ones.

Sam was so close to the mad man's face that he could see with spectacular detail and enjoy in grim satisfaction how drops of blood fell from his chin to the ground and from one lip to another with an almost imperceptible plopping sound.

Then, a disturbing smile slowly crept on the captor's face. With blood covering half of his face, including teeth and lips, he spat the shining blood onto Sam's face and said in an unsettling calm voice:

"I see your nickname precedes you"

His face became stony cold, all smile long forgotten. With a dangerous look on his eyes, he held a steady right hand in the air and signaled to a crowbar that lay threateningly on the ground, as if waiting to be lifted and used.

Sam's heart raced and with uneven breaths he watched with horror how the intimidating object landed heavily on the hand and how the fingers clenched around it with such tremendous force that made the knuckles turn white.

The prisoner gulped nervously, instinctively crawling backwards. Well, as much as the chains allowed him, anyway.

Army training kicking in, Sam made himself to take sniper breaths and setting his gaze at a spot on the wall in front of him, he hardened his eyes and prepared himself for the inevitable.

"But you see, Sammy… Mine precedes me too"

Instinctively, Sam shut his eyes close and held his breath at the same time the question of why the police hadn't made contact yet stood out with blinding clarity, like a beacon on the dead of the night, from all the other thoughts.

His body was violently thrown to the left and all possible air Sam had been holding up, abandoned his mouth with a strangled yelp of pain at the same time his ears caught with trepidation the horrible and audible sound of bones' breaking.

When a second and then third blow stroke savagely his mistreated skin, he found himself unable to lift the trunk of his body anymore. Barely conscious now, Sam hanged there, desperately gasping for air. His face screwed in pain and gradually his mind drifted, like some twisted mechanism of defense, to another time where he had found himself in a very similar situation.

* * *

 _A few minutes before_

Jones opened his mouth only to be interrupted by the apologetic voice of Wordy, _"Boss, we're in the vents getting closer to the room where Sam is. We're trying to get a good spot to set up the snake camera. Sorry the delay, one of vents wasn't in the original plans"_

Greg answered an absentminded "Copy that, don't worry, stay safe" and returned his full attention to the agent sitting in front of him.

"Okay, I sat. Now speak, agent Jones, because in a few minutes I'm making contact and I need the information so we can have a peaceful resolution" Greg was eyeing him with determination, silently daring the man to contradict him.

Jones raised his hands to fix his tie, but when he caught the warning look on Wilcox's face, he refrained himself from doing so and, instead, he took out a gum from his pocket –which was probably expired by now- and shoved it into his mouth.

"Sorry, nervous habit"

He chewed it a few times and stood up, momentarily giving his back to the sergeant. Disgusted at the funny taste it had, he glued the gum to a paper and buried it on the same pocket from where it had come out; he fixed his tie discretely as possible and turned around to face his listeners. His solemn voice made its way through the confided space as he began his tale:

"When I first started working on the Bureau, in 1979, I was assigned to the Violent Crimes branch. In 1984 we started working on a case that would turn out to be one of the largest and most expensive investigations the FBI has ever had. It was a joint task force with Organized Crime, White-Collar Crime and Public Corruption; we were investigating the Omega Mafia" –He cringed at the memory- "The eighties wasn't the finest time for organized crime. Everywhere you turned there was some crime related to _this_ 'family', if you want to call it that way"

Jones nudged his head to Gonzales, who left his spot in the wall and approached the computer. Spike quickly moved his chair away from the table and waited for the man to finish whatever he was doing. Greg and Spike eyed curiously when the agent inserted a black pendrive into the computer and opened a secured file with a ridiculous amount of sub-folders.

Pressing one with a quick click of the mouse, he opened another folder with photos and an apparent family tree.

The agent clicked on the top of the tree and several photos, ones in black and white and others in color, appeared on the screen.

The man in display appeared to wander between the age of 35 and 50, and Greg realized with bewilderment that the reason of that was the amount of years invested in investigating this man, hence the difference in the age and color of the shots.

Said man was tall, probably 6,2 ft (1.90 mt) and you could appreciate that he was naturally stout, but clearly not out of shape, even as the years passed. His head was neatly shaved and a thick, yet well-kept blonde beard adorned his square, hard jaw. His eyes were a striking sky-blue, nearly giving a sense of compassion and kindness that contradicted greatly with the rest of his tough figure that screamed authority. His eyebrows were bushy, but not in excess; a clear indicator of his strong personality. Signs of a tattoo could be seen poking out of the edge of his collar, but the ink was mostly hidden by his clean, unwrinkled t-shirt.

The voice of the agent interrupted all streams of thought, "That man was, and still is, the head of the Omega Mafia, the Pakhan if you prefer"

The eyes of the constables were glued to the hypnotizing face of the Mob Boss. Greg forced his eyes to look away from the picture and look at the agent. The latter looked back at him and said:

"His name is Anatoly Orlov and he's a sneaky son of a bitch. In all the years we investigated the guy we never caught him on anythingand I mean _anything_ ;member of the mafia arrested, member that wouldn't speak. He is, at the same time, greatly respected and feared by everyone"

Spike asked, intrigued "Then how did you make the arrests?"

At the bittersweet memory, a small, lopsided smile appeared on Jones's face, "The investigation went cold until the beginnings of 1998 when I was approached by two very important members of Omega offering a trade for help, if you could call it like that" –He darted a brief, almost pained glance at the face of Anatoly Orlov- "The sources were truly desperate. They asked me for protection in exchange for valuable information, information that I couldn't have gotten any other away. You have to understand… I was desperate too."

There was a moment of silence and then the senior agent continued, "They knew the risks of contacting me. They knew perfectly well that one wrong move and something worse than death would be expecting them" –He sighed soundly and his shoulders fell in an almost defeated expression- "Since then, they helped our undercover agents; they gave us enormous quantity of intel about moles, illegal operations, human trafficking, prostitution, drugs, you name it" –With a pensive look on his eyes he added as an afterthought- "Every day for six months they risked their lives to escape that sick world. That's a true hero right there"

During the tale, Greg had leaned forward and rested his chin on his hands, wearing the same thoughtful look that the man in front of him had. He asked, slightly confused "So what does Sam has to do with anything?"

The agent gave him the briefest of smiles and whispered, "Everything, Sergeant, everything"

For what it was maybe less than a second, the agent returned to the cold, rainy night of January 3rd of 1998.

" _Babe!" the scared voice of Rosaline Jones rose barely above a whisper as she shook her sleepy husband lying next to her._

 _The agent sighed, absentminded, "What?"_

 _She shook him again "Aaron wake up. I heard something downstairs"_

 _His eyes went wide at the familiar rush of adrenaline. The bright, red numbers of the clock blinked tiredly back at him._

' _2.16 am' he registered with a trained eye._

 _The agent quickly sat up in the bed and turned to his wife, "You sure?"_

 _She slapped him in the arm out of fear and replied back "Yes, I'm sure". Like if to emphasize her point, the noise of something bumping against furniture came from the first floor._

 _He reassured her in a calm voice and took out his service weapon out of the safe box inside his nightstand. He put on some random sweatshirt and pants and headed quietly to the door._

 _He opened it slowly and checked both sides of the hallway. Swiftly, the agent headed to the room of his children and woke them up. He took the scared kids to his wife and whispered to her, "Rosie, lock the door behind me"_

 _She grabbed his arm and whispered back, "Babe the phone's dead"_

 _He licked his lips and with a frown he told her, "Don't worry. Just stay right here and I'll go check. Don't come out of the room"_

 _Slowly, after checking the second floor, the agent made his way down the stairs, gingerly pressing his feet down onto the wooden steps. With his glock raised at eye level, he got to the first floor and quickly scanned the room where he stood._

 _With his face screwed in concentration, the agent headed first to the front door and saw with confusion that there was no sign of forced entry or any broken glass. Leaving the thought for later he focused in clearing the kitchen and then the dining room, which was next to his next target: the living room._

 _Slowly, he crept inside the room. A phantasmagoric sensation lingered in the air when the dim light coming from the reflection of the moon illuminated weakly the sofas and furniture. With a grim expression he saw the source of the noise he had heard previously; one of the small tables next to a sofa had been thrown to the ground._

 _The agent was walking to the centre of the room when he felt a sudden pressure on his back. Cursing himself for being so oblivious to the threat that had been waiting for him, he waited for the instructions that he was sure he would hear next._

 _He was pondering if turning around and take away the weapon from the burglar's hand, but, as if reading his mind, the unknown person pressed the gun harder into his back and threatened in a menacing whisper:_

" _Don't even think about moving. I'm not the only one pointing a gun at you"_

 _It could have perfectly being a bluff, the agent knew it, but he wouldn't for the world risk the life of his family. He nodded sharply and replied, "Okay. Whatever you say"_

 _By the faint shadows he saw the burglar moving briefly. The assailant kept a calm voice as he spoke, which, for the agent, was completely strange and upsetting, as he knew that normal burglars weren't –as one may say- 'professionals'. And that scared the agent more than the gun pressed against his lower back, because if the unknown subject was so well collected, it meant that this was planned and by no means a coincidence that he 'happened' to stumble upon a robbery, if it was a robbery at all._

" _Put the safety on, grab it by the barrel with your index and thumb and give it to me over your shoulder"_

' _Definitely not a robbery'. His suspicions had just been confirmed._

 _He complied and a gloved hand brushed his fingers as he gave him the gun._

" _Sit on the couch in front of you"_

 _As he sat he studied carefully the figure that stood in front of him with the gun pointed at his chest. All he could see was that the man was thin, but well-built and that he was right handed. Unfortunately, beyond that, it was impossible to discern anything more, as said man had his face covered with a ski mask and wore a long, black sleeved shirt accompanied with dark, cargo pants and a pair of equally dark gloves._

 _The agent figured, as there was little to no light in the room, that the man was studying him closely by the way his face was directed at him. Jones waited patiently for maybe a minute until, finally, the subject calmly stated, almost detached from the situation:_

" _Your name is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Jones, age 42._ _Married for 15 years with Rosaline Wallace with whom you have two kids: Elaine, age 10 and Jackson, age 12._ _You've been a fed for_ _19 years and spent 4 years in the military, from 1974-1978. Since 1979 you've been working in Violent Crimes_ _and since 1984 you've been working the Omega case_ _. Every Sunday morning you play basketball with your coworkers" –The man stopped briefly his speech and said- As you may have noticed, agent, I'm very well informed._ _Keep that in mind. I'm going to ask the next questions once and only once and you're going to answer me honestly, understood?"_

" _Understood" The mind of the agent was whirling with questions, 'Who was this man?' 'What did he want to know?' 'Is he going to kill me?' 'Is he after my family?'_

" _Tell me agent, have you ever taken any kind of bribe during your professional career?"_

 _The agent certainly didn't expect a question like that. What was he, some kind of vigilante?_

 _He shook his head in denial, "Never"_

 _The man kept quiet for a moment and asked again:_

" _Have you ever had any kind of illegal or immoral contact with the Omega mafia, or with any person involved in an ongoing investigation?"_

 _Jones frowned in confusion at the strange questions. Again, he denied it._

" _Have you done anything illegal or out of the books during your career with the FBI?"_

" _No I haven't"_

" _Did you lie to me?" the voice of the person lowered dangerously_

 _The agent denied it again. "No I didn't"_

 _A brief silence followed and then, "Have you done anything illegal in your professional or personal life that you think it's worth mentioning?" –Before the agent could answer, the man interrupted- "Remember agent that I didn't come unprepared, if you lie to me I will know"_

 _Jones stared at him in silence. After a few seconds, he answered, mirroring the calmness of the subject:_

" _Well… I once smoke marihuana with my army pals, but I think that's it, unless stealing my friend's collection cards when I was twelve counts"_

 _The agent tried to lighten the atmosphere, attempting to build some kind of rapport with the man in front of him. Apparently, it worked because the man's tone of voice seemed calmer than before, in a way that it wasn't faked._

" _Very good agent. Now, we are going to lower our guns and put them away as a sign of confidence, please don't try anything; I just want to talk, alright?"_

 _The agent, although slightly suspicious, nodded and verbally agreed, "Okay"_

 _The person, true to his word, put the safety on and lowered his gun onto the table to his left. He sat on a chair in front of the agent and smiled under his mask. "Please go calm your wife; you have my word that we mean no harm. If you want, you can take your glock"_

 _The assailant –if he could be called that- handed him the dark pistol and relaxed his body on the chair._

 _The agent quickly grabbed the gun and pointed it at the man, asking "What about the other person? Is he going to lower his weapon too?"_

" _Yes"_

 _Point in case, another person crept from the shadows and left the gun next to the one of the other subject. As quickly as it had left the darkness, the person backed away to where he –or she?- had come from, successfully disappearing from the human eye._

 _Knowing the risks of leaving the unknown persons to go check on his wife, the agent stood hesitant between the sitting man and the couch._

" _You can take our magazines if that calms you"_

' _It doesn't but what other option do I have?' The agent thought with trepidation, torn between going to his family and stay there._

 _Finally, Jones conceded. "Alright, but you or your partner move as much as a muscle and I'll shoot"_

 _The man nodded and signaled to the weapons._

 _Once the agent had emptied the weapons from all the bullets he gave an doubtful look to the person and with a sigh he ran upstairs._

 _He knocked softly on the door and said:_

" _Rosie, it's me. Open up"_

 _There was a sound of the door unlocking and then the face of the woman peeped through the slot of the door._

" _So?" She asked, her voice controlled._

" _I don't know…" –He checked the hallway behind him and returned his attention to his wife- "There're two persons downstairs that apparently wants to talk to me. They let me take the bullets from their guns and returned me my piece as a 'sign of confidence', as one of them said, while I checked on you"_

 _The woman frowned, a mixture of confusion and worry in her eyes "What are you gonna do?"_

 _He sighed. "Play along. Stay here until I come back for you guys, if you hear anything similar to a fight you jump through the window and run to the nearest house, alright?"_

 _Hesitant, she answered "Okay babe, but... not that I won't do it, but it's a big fall from the second floor to the ground, what about the kids?"_

" _Jump first and then grab them"_

 _She gave him a look very similar to 'are you fucking kidding me?' at which he quickly apologized:_

" _I know, I'm sorry babe, but it's the only thing you can do, you said the phone died"_

 _Finally, she sighed "Yeah… Alright, but I don't like it; stay safe" She quickly closed the door and immediately locked it._

 _The agent went downstairs with his gun raised and checked all the rooms before heading to where the man and his accomplice awaited him. Well, hopefully._

 _He saw with great relief that the man hadn't moved from the chair. He sat in front of him and said, taking control of the situation:_

" _I will talk to you with three conditions. First, you friend there –he pointed to the darkness- will turn on the lights and sit next to you. Second, I will keep my gun loaded and your bullets. And third, you'll take out the mask"_

 _The young subject replied with a rather amused tone, "Fare enough". He signaled to his partner and the strong lights suddenly hit their eyes, briefly blinding them._

 _Once the agent had cleared his vision, the other person, amazingly, had conceded to his condition and sat slowly on the other chair._

 _He took a good look at the person that had been hidden until then and realized that it was a woman. She was tall, rather skinny, but had a determined posture, the way she moved a clear indicator of it._

 _Unperturbed, the agent pointed with the gun at the man's hidden face._

 _There was a moment of silence were none of them moved or spoke, the calm breathing of the occupants of the room being the only disturbance in the silence. Then, the man nodded to the person next to him and slowly, they lifted their black ski masks._

' _Jesus Christ they're just kids', the agent thought with bewilderment, 'the boy looks like he just turned nineteen and, the girl! She can't be more that sixteen'._

 _The boy leaned forward and with a sober expression that made him look older, he said:_

" _Now that I know you're trustworthy I'll tell you the reason of our visit"_

 _For a second, the agent frowned when the thought of knowing the faces in front of him vaguely crossed his mind._

" _First, do you recognize us?"_

 _As if the words had been the key to his memory, a powerful cascade of information filled his mind. Suddenly scared, the agent tightened his grip on the gun and gulped anxiously. He took a breath and asked:_

" _Yes, I do"_

 _When they didn't fill the silence, the agent continued, with an underlying tone of hesitation in his voice:_

" _What does the Omega Mafia wants with an FBI agent?"_

 _The daughter of Anatoly Orlov spoke for the first time, "We're not here in behalf of Omega". When she said that, the eyes of both her and the boy hardened._

 _Jones' frown deepened when he saw a brief flash of fear in the boy's eyes. It quickly disappeared though, leaving the agent questioning himself if he had imagined it._

" _We're here to offer you a deal"_

 _The older man leaned forward, echoing the teenager's stance and left the gun on his lap. He asked, truly confused, but now more relaxed at what the girl had said. "What kind of deal?"_

 _The boy shot a brief glance to the girl, almost searching for reassurance. Leaning his elbows on his legs, he looked back at the agent. He intertwined his fingers and started playing with his thumbs, deep in thought._

' _He's nervous', the agent noted with curiosity._

" _How badly do you want to nail Omega?" The boy finally asked._

 _Jones tilted his head to the left. "Very badly"_

 _The body of the agent tightened when realization hit him. 'No way… it can't be?!"._

 _With wide eyes he looked at the face of the boy. For the first time since he had met the teenager, he noticed how truly tense they really were; the right leg of the boy was, almost imperceptible, bouncing up and down and the girl darted sporadic, anxious looks to the window and to her watch._

 _The words that left the mouth of the teenager were hard, but insecurity and fear crept into his voice._

" _I'm offering Information and to be your inside contact in exchange for protection"_

 _The boy opened his jacket and took out a folder; he handed it to the agent and said, "That's just a glimpse of what I have"_

 _The agent eyed him, stunned, and dropped his shocked eyes onto the folder in his hands. As he read the information, Jones felt his heart hammering hard against his chest and adrenaline pulsating through his body, when suddenly another striking fact besieged his mind._

 _Putting the folder and the gun away he gave them a knowing smile and gently said, in a tone he used only with his children:_

" _How old are you guys?"_

 _The boy answered, his voice low but self-confident, "Eighteen and my sister sixteen"_

 _Jones sighed soundly and said apologetically, "You're aware that your sister is a minor, right?"_

 _The boy had a sorrowful look on his face as he replied "Yes, I know"_

 _The agent moved his hand along with his words, trying to mark the importance of what he was saying. "Do you realize the danger you're putting yourself and your sister? The implications of what you're doing?"_

 _This time, the girl spoke, "We know. And better than you probably"_

 _Jones rubbed his forehead with his fingers and looked at them. "I'm sorry, but I-"_

 _His words evaporated to oblivion when he saw the brother tightly holding the hand of the girl. He slid his eyes onto the desperate ones of the siblings._

 _The boy pleaded, his voice similar to the one of a lost child:_

" _Please"_

 _The agent sighed again, mortified at the decision he was about to make. Finally, he asked:_

" _Why? Why would you want to risk your lives life that? You're… you're kids for God's sake! I don't want to be the one responsible for the death of two-"_

" _What? Kids?"-The boy snorted- "Please, we lost our innocence long ago, if we ever had one"_

 _The agent repeated, still not convinced, "Why? Just… make me understand"_

 _The siblings looked at each other and the boy answered for his sister, "When our sister died we realized that we didn't really belong in there. We have always felt outta place, you know? It makes me sick the things they do, the things they make me do…"_

 _His voice cracked at the end and the sister wisely filled for him, her voice small and suddenly timid as if revealing a secret for the first time:_

" _And my dad isn't a very nice person"_

 _The throat of the agent tightened with emotion at the way she had said it; so many things revealed with so little. He knew for a fact that Anatoly Orlov wasn't really known for the kindness of his heart._

 _A few tense seconds passed before the agent found his voice:_

" _Alright" –when he saw the hopeful looks on the kids' eyes, he lifted a finger- "But I will not use your sister, she is, after all, still a minor to my eyes and the eyes of the law"_

 _The boy nodded gravely and extended the hand that wasn't attached to his sister's._

" _Thank you, agent"_

 _Jones shock it right back, "Aaron, please", he added with a fatherly smile._

 _The boy shyly smiled back for the first time:_

" _Mijaíl"_

"No… now, just… wait a second" Spike interrupted, dumbfounded. He opened his mouth and closed it, he opened it again but no words left his mouth.

Again, the young constable tried to speak, this time succeeding to stutter out a few words:

"You're saying that Sam, _our_ Sam" –he added, pressing his fingers to his chest- "is actually…?"

SSSA Jones looked at him with sorrow in his eyes.

"Yes"

 **I'm scared. Do you guys hate me for the gigantic plot twist? I had y'all fooled didn't I?**

 **Please review and tell me what you thought of it; if you liked it, loved it, hated it or whatsoever.**

 **and what do you think is going to happen next?!**

 **Till next time.**

 **with love,**

 **Prohibidofumar**


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